


Deck the Halls With Glowing Deer

by Sineala



Category: Psych
Genre: Gen, Yuletide, Yuletide 2008
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-01
Updated: 2009-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-02 04:01:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/pseuds/Sineala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Shawn asks for a hippopotamus for Christmas, and Shawn and Gus solve a mystery of missing lawn decorations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deck the Halls With Glowing Deer

**Author's Note:**

> Written for neko_chelle for Yuletide 2008, whose prompt was "Shawn wants a hippopotamus for Christmas." I gave him one. Thanks to Lysimache for beta!

"I've always wanted a hippopotamus for Christmas," Shawn said, sounding especially thoughtful, just before he threw his empty Dr Pepper can across the office into the recycling bin and thrust his fists in the air, triumphant.

"Hippopotamus?"

Shawn made his fake-serious face, and Gus knew he'd walked right into a trap. "Language of origin... uh. Latin. No alternate pronunciations, and I believe I _have_ just used it in a sentence."

"It's originally Greek," Gus said, though he didn't know why he bothered. "From _hippos_, horse, and _potamos_, river. And you've never wanted one for Christmas."

"I have too."

"Oh, yeah? Since when?"

"Since I was... seven."

"When you were seven you wanted a GI Joe aircraft carrier. And a Cobra Commander action figure for the good guys to beat up. You got Snake Eyes. When you were eight you wanted a BB gun. When you were nine -- do you want me to go on?"

Shawn looked hurt. Or tried to. It never really worked, but Gus figured it was never really supposed to, either. "It has been my deepest, most hidden desire all these years, Gus. One that I finally entrust to you." A pause, and then he burst into song. "I'm a hippopotamus, and I've got noodles on my back, noodles on my back--"

"All right, all right. You want a hippopotamus."

Shawn raised his eyebrows in victory. "But I asked you first."

Gus shrugged. "I don't know yet, I told you."

It was December 15th. Time to start acquiring Christmas gifts in earnest. It didn't help that the December of Santa Barbara never looked much like the December of Christmas songs and stories. There were never songs about Santa in California delivering presents in the mudslides. It made it hard to develop a sense of urgency.

"I found your Amazon.com wishlist," Shawn taunted. "People who say they don't know what they want are definitely not getting Voltron on DVD."

"Fine. I didn't even really want Voltron anyway."

"Gus, I think you misunderstand the purpose of wishlists."

It was then, thankfully, that the office phone rang. Shawn answered.

"Psych, Shawn Spencer. How may I help you?" A pause, and then his voice lowered. "Oh, that's nice. And what are you wearing right now?" Another pause. "You're no fun, Lassie. We'll be right over." He hung up.

"Lassiter?"

"Is fully dressed. And needs our services. Come on."

***

Gus had been looking forward to having a case that would take them some time to solve. Something to occupy his thoughts with. It had certainly been taking the SBPD a long time to solve, Juliet told the pair of them, as they strode toward the unassuming house with a garish array of holiday decorations in the front yard. Even in the daytime, fawns blinked epileptically at them. The electricity bill must have been astronomical.

Shawn extended his hand to the harried-looking woman on the porch, a confident-salesman pitch that Gus sometimes secretly tried to emulate with the more recalcitrant doctors. "Mrs. Beaumont, was it? My name is Shawn Spencer, and I'm a psychic working with the Santa Barbara Police Department. This is my associate, Ebenezer Throckmorton."

On cue, Gus smiled. Shawn hadn't used that one in a while. "Would you mind telling us what seems to be the problem, ma'am?"

"I already told the officers," the woman said nervously, casting glances over at Lassiter and Juliet, who appeared to be examining a waving snowman on the lawn.

"We'd like you to tell us," Shawn said, low, reassuring. "It aids my psychic abilities to hear the facts from the people involved. I'm sure you understand, Mrs. Beaumont."

Gus smiled again.

"It's absolutely intolerable!" she finally came out with. "Someone's been stealing our Christmas decorations. Oh, so many are missing. Can't you tell?"

Gus sneaked a quick glance back at the lawn. There were, in fact, a few open spaces amid the deer and the Santas and the snowmen, but he had taken this as evidence of a sudden bout of restraint rather than kleptomania. He had to admit now that the latter made more sense.

"Of course we can," Shawn replied, smooth as ever. "I spotted the disturbance almost immediately. Now, would you mind telling me more about what went missing, and when?"

It had been going on since the first of the month, Mrs. Beaumont told them as she ushered them into a living room that displayed the same clarity of vision and design principles as the lawn -- which was to say, none. The coffee table was full of knick-knacks and tchotchkes and other oddities, little balls of cuteness that were perhaps even too quirky to have their own names. Gus perched on the edge of the overstuffed sofa and contemplated a sparkly unicorn statuette in silent awe. Mrs. Beaumont was still talking and possibly wringing her hands.

"So something's been stolen every night since the first?" Shawn asked, and Gus looked up from the unicorn.

Mrs. Beaumont nodded in misery. Gus couldn't imagine how fourteen more of anything could fit on that lawn.

"Do you think you'll be able to figure it out?" she implored.

"Certainly," Shawn said, and Gus stood up just as Shawn did. "But first I have to get a psychic sense of the area before I can draw any conclusions. This may take some time."

She nodded firmly. "I understand. Thank you so much for your help, Mr. Spencer, Mr. Throckmorton."

"Have a nice day," Gus said.

He almost tripped over a wise man getting back to the car. Shawn laughed.

***

"Left at the next light," Shawn said, suddenly, and Gus had to swerve to get in the turning lane.

"You figured it out already?"

"Nah, dude, but she had her address book open on the table, and her brother doesn't live too far away. What say we pay him a visit, my good man?"

Gus sighed and made the turn.

"What do you think my dad wants for Christmas?" Shawn said, in a tone that made it sound as if they had only just been discussing it.

"You never to borrow his tools again," Gus said instantly.

Out of the corner in his eye, he saw Shawn's face crinkle in happy memory. "Yeah. You remember the time I built that awesome sculpture with the hacksaws and the stepladder for Halloween? And the chainsaw on top? With the fake blood?" He shook his head sadly, or maybe fake-sadly. "He's never forgiven me in the years since."

"Shawn," he said patiently. "That was two months ago."

Shawn brightened even more. "And wasn't it awesome?"

***

Fred McLaren scratched behind his ear with one huge grubby finger. "Someone's stealing from Martha?"

Gus -- or, rather, he supposed, Leslie Featherstonehaugh -- nodded. "For the past two weeks, someone's stolen a lawn decoration of hers every day."

"She is," Shawn said carefully, "perturbed," and then beamed at Gus like he wanted a shiny medal for using a word that Gus knew that they'd learned in ninth grade. Or, more accurately, that they'd been supposed to have learned. Shawn had never paid much attention in English. Or any class, really.

"Oh." Fred's hand's moved, scrubbed across his face. "You guys gotta understand, my sister, she's always been a little--" He lifted his hand from his face and tilted it side-to-side, more eloquent than words.

"Can you think of anyone who might want to steal decorations from her?" Gus asked, a matter of routine. Lassiter hadn't said they'd talked to this guy, so someone had better ask.

Fred blinked as if the answer were entirely obvious. "Well, of course."

"And that would be...?"

"Her neighbors," the man said, beginning to look perplexed, and then he narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Shawn. "They hate her Christmas display every year. Hey, if you're a psychic, shouldn't you, like, know that already?"

Shawn raised his fingertips to his temples, with a flourish, as he furrowed his brow. "I'm sensing a large amount of dislike for your sister's decor from a number of people. I'm afraid that with so many people involved, identifying their psychic signals is difficult. It's a well-known problem in the psychic community. Tragic, really."

"Oh, that's a shame," he said, relaxing, and Gus let out a breath. One of these days, someone was going to figure it out. But that wasn't going to be today, thankfully.

Fred was only too happy to provide names and addresses of the people he considered the likeliest suspects -- there were two families in particular he suspected, and he detailed his reasons exhaustively. Shawn frowned and pretended to write it down in a notebook. Gus knew he was memorizing the names -- he always did -- and he leaned over Shawn's shoulder to see that the notebook contained the word HIPPOPOTAMUS and a drawing of a roundish blob that was presumably supposed to represent said word.

Shawn added some water around the hippo and widened his eyes significantly at Gus.

Yeah, yeah, he got the idea.

***

"It's just so... tacky," Mr. Limaco said, grimacing, while his wife behind him nodded fervently.

Shawn nodded slightly in return. "You wouldn't happen to have seen any... suspicious activity... around the Beaumonts' house at night, would you?" Gus could see him trying to peer through the half-open front door into the room beyond. They hadn't invited them in.

"We're sound sleepers," Mrs. Limaco put in.

Mr. Limaco frowned. "You're not accusing us of taking them, are you?" His face, already unfriendly, closed off even more.

Gus hastily put up his hands, a sign of conciliation, but it was too late. "No, we--"

"Well, I never!" Mrs. Limaco spat out.

"We'll be calling a lawyer if you come back." Mr. Limaco's voice had risen in pitch.

The motion of the door slamming shut caused a slight breeze to flutter in their direction. It was, Gus thought, the most refreshing thing about the entire conversation.

Shawn rubbed his hands together, entirely unfazed. "That went well."

"You're kidding."

He smiled. "I think we have ourselves a suspect. At least one." Shawn looked positively gleeful at the thought of the second neighbor.

Gus sighed. "Once more unto the breach, dear friends," he mumbled, mostly to himself.

Shawn looked blank for an instant -- but only an instant -- and then his eyes lit up. "Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country!" he said, and lifted his hand for a high-five as they traced their path back to the sidewalk.

"That too."

"What?"

***

Their other suspect turned out to be both wholly cooperative and completely unpromising. The man who opened the door was dressed in a rumpled t-shirt and boxers. He rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times at them, squinting against the afternoon sun. He was clearly half-asleep, or more like three-quarters, and they had to explain the situation several times.

"Really?" he asked, rubbing at his eyes again and looking across the street to the Beaumonts' hideous lawn. "It doesn't look like any are even missing."

"Fourteen so far, Mr. Allen," Gus said politely.

The man chuckled broadly at that. "You can hardly tell. And call me Bob."

"Bob," Shawn cut in. "My colleague and I were hoping you might, shall we say, possess information related to the commission of these heinous crimes."

Bob blinked again. "You asking if I did it?"

"No!" The word sprang to Gus's lips instantly, and next to him he heard Shawn saying the same thing.

Another laugh. "You want to know the truth?"

He could almost see Shawn's well-mannered smile out of the corner of his eye. "Please."

The man waved a hand at them. "C'mon in. Excuse the mess."

His home was not, in fact, that messy, and it was refreshingly free of any knick-knacks whatsoever. Gus and Shawn perched on two rickety stools in the living room.

"It's a great idea," Bob said, obviously warming to them. "Except I couldn't have done it. I work nights."

"Every night?" Shawn asked.

He shrugged. "Check with my boss, get my timesheets, get the security tapes. I was there. I -- oh, I see what you mean. Yeah, I got some days off. But I didn't steal nothing. Unless you think I stole 'em four nights and someone else stole 'em the other ten."

Gus nodded thoughtfully. The man had a point.

"People have been known to enlist accomplices," Shawn said, not accusingly, but more like he wanted to see what the man would say.

Bob gave another shrug. "Take a look around." He gestured. "One bedroom, over there. Living room, kitchen. No garage. That's it. If I got four -- or fourteen -- of those godawful monstrosities, where the hell would I have put them?"

It was another good point. Whoever was stealing them had to put them somewhere. Their relaxing Christmas case was shaping up to be tricky.

***

"Now what?" Gus asked. Bob was back to sleep, and they were back on the sidewalk.

Shawn was already in the middle of the road before he turned around to answer. "Back to Mrs. Beaumont to tell her what we've found, of course."

Gus hurried over and caught up with him on the lawn, narrowly avoiding a twinkling multicolored star. "Which is? We've found nothing."

Shawn half-smirked and rang the doorbell. "That's what you think, Gus."

What? "That _is_ what I think. Because it's true."

The person who answered the door was not Mrs. Beaumont, but instead a boy of approximately thirteen. He was sullenness personified. He scuffed muddy sneakers on the carpet and stared at them, expressionless. In one hand he was clutching a huge Slurpee, and the smell of blue raspberry -- and just what was a blue raspberry, anyway? -- wafted toward them. He said nothing.

"Hi," Shawn ventured after ten seconds of silence.

Another twenty seconds of silence. Great.

Gus took a turn. "Is your mother home?"

"Yeah."

Finally, a response. But the kid didn't move to get her; he just stood, staring.

"Brian," Mrs. Beaumont called from somewhere within the house, "is there someone at the door?"

"Yeah," the kid said again, in the same inflectionless tone, only slightly louder.

"Well, who is it?"

The kid still just stood there. "Dunno."

There was a very audible sigh -- Gus didn't blame her at all -- and then Mrs. Beaumont appeared at the door behind her son.

"Oh, it's you gentlemen again! Have you found the thief already?" Hope surged in her eyes.

Shawn shook his head, and her face fell. "I'm afraid not, but we've been busy taking a psychic map of the area and tracing the disturbances. It would really be better if we could observe the area overnight."

"Oh, of course," she said. "The couch folds out, if you'd like."

"That won't be necessary," Shawn said. "It's much easier to read the psychic currents from outside."

"I understand."

Gus smiled and tried to give Shawn his best "what the hell are you doing?" face. This wasn't part of the plan.

"We'll be back later," Shawn assured her. "Nice meeting you, Brian."

Brian, of course, said nothing.

***

When they were safely ensconced in Gus's car, he could finally ask: "What are you _doing_, Shawn?"

Shawn, as usual, was unconcerned. "Come on; it'll be fun."

"The last time you said that--"

"I know, I know. Eight trips through the Tilt-A-Whirl at the fair. Wasn't that fun?"

"It wasn't fun, Shawn. It was vertiginous."

He watched as Shawn frowned, then clearly tried to pretend like he knew what "vertiginous" meant. "It was too fun."

"I got so dizzy that I tripped over a wall and sprained my ankle."

"Oh." He looked briefly sorry, but only briefly. "But it was fun until then, right?"

Gus sighed.

"Please? No Tilt-A-Whirl. This'll be fun. It's like a stakeout!"

"It _is_ a stakeout," Gus said, sourly. "That's the police's job."

"I've always thought it sounded interesting," Shawn said. "We should swing by and let them know."

***

Lassiter glared at them, arms full of papers as he hurried to his desk. "Of course it's one of the neighbors. We're a little busy right now, so if--"

"Detective Lassiter!" a voice called from across the bullpen, and Lassiter started to hurry away.

"Gus and I want to do a stakeout," Shawn said. Gus tried to look as if he were merely an innocent victim, along for the ride in Shawn's hare-brained schemes. It was true, too, most of the time.

Lassiter stopped dead. "Are you actually asking me for permission? Well, Spencer, this is a first!" He seemed... happy.

Shawn shrugged. "Nah, I wanted to know if you have any of those cool night-vision goggles I could borrow."

Lassiter rolled his eyes, disgusted, and walked away.

Shawn seized upon his next victim. "Jules!"

Juliet smiled prettily. "Hi, Shawn."

"Any thoughts on the Beaumont case?"

"The Beaumont case?" She bit her lip. "Oh, the lawn lady? Sorry, no, it's been so busy here. The chief's got us all working, end of the year craziness, you know how it is."

"I'd like to make your life easier," Shawn said, obviously trying for suave, "and stake out the Beaumont house for you."

She laughed, ebullient. "That would be great."

"And can I borrow some of those headset walkie-talkies?"

She was onto him. "No."

***

At ten o'clock, Gus pulled into a parking space across the street from the Beaumonts' as Shawn poked dejectedly at the lone pair of binoculars he'd eventually finagled from a hapless detective. Most of the houses on the street were dark already. Ah, the joys of suburbia and children with early bedtimes. In his rear-view mirror Gus could see a car pull out of Bob Allen's house behind them. It was probably time for the night shift.

Shawn dangled the binoculars by a strap, precariously. "The resources of the SBPD disappoint me, Gus."

"Mind telling me why we're doing this?"

An innocent look. "Because the police aren't interested."

"And _we're_ interested?"

Shawn patted him on the shoulder. "Gus, Gus, Gus. I thought you'd have been concerned with seeing wrongs righted, seeing criminals brought to justice--"

Gus stared at him until he relented.

"I was hoping for a Christmas bonus."

"You need a job with a steady paycheck for that," Gus pointed out. "A job like the one I am employed in. The one I have to show up to work for in ten hours. The one I can't do if I don't get any sleep."

"Call in sick," Shawn told him. Maybe it was the lateness of the day, and the general craziness of the case, but it was beginning to sound like a good idea.

By one a.m., everything on the street was silent, and everything was dark, except of course for the Beaumonts' holiday decorations, cheerfully filling the night with light pollution. On the plus side, they'd definitely be able to see if anyone came along and stole one; it was that bright out.

"I spy with my little eye--"

"Nuh-uh." Gus cut him off. "We are not playing that."

"Aww, man."

"I don't play I Spy with anyone who thinks 'oxygen molecule' is an appropriate answer."

Shawn laughed, sounding not at all tired. "I forgot about that one. Come on, what else are you going to do?"

An hour later there was still nothing, and Gus had completely failed to guess "nitrogen molecule," this being Shawn's new and improved difficult answer.

Gus pressed his forehead against the car window and sighed.

Eventually, dawn came, and with it, the street slowly began to come to life. Bob Allen's car pulled into the driveway. Down the street, Mr. Limaco and then Mrs. Limaco left for work, moving quickly and purposefully to their cars. If they noticed they were being watched, they gave no sign.

And no one had stolen anything.

At seven, Mrs. Beaumont, dressed for work, came out to the porch, peered around her yard suspiciously, and then gave them a thumbs-up from across the road. She didn't think anyone had taken anything either.

Gus stared at Shawn and Shawn stared back, as Mrs. Beaumont got into her car and drove off, followed a few minutes later by someone who must be Mr. Beaumont, Brian Beaumont presumably being capable of getting to school without any assistance. She had said that something had been stolen every night while she'd slept. They'd been here all night, and everything had been fine. Why had the thief decided to skip tonight?

Gus rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Shawn. This was a waste of time."

Shawn was beginning to look a little frustrated. It had only taken him nine hours. "I know."

"I'm going to turn the car on now, Shawn. I'm going to drop you off, and then I'm going home," Gus said, with difficulty. Through the haze of fatigue, enunciating every last one of his desires seemed a good idea. "I am going to call in sick to work. I am going to eat breakfast. Or possibly dinner. By myself. At home. I am not buying you breakfast."

Shawn pouted.

"And then," he continued. "I am going to get at least eight hours of sleep. Possibly ten."

***

As it turned out, he got seven, or so he calculated when his cell phone rang at 5:30, startling him out of a well-deserved pleasant dream.

Shawn's voice on the other end of the line was annoyingly chipper. "Gus, we've got more missing ornaments."

Gus blinked and tried to make the sentence make sense. "What?"

"The Beaumonts," Shawn clarified. "Someone took one of their ornaments after all."

It still wasn't making sense. "We were there all night."

He could practically hear the shrug. "Must have happened after we left. Going to give me a ride over?"

"All right," Gus said, and hung up. Damn it.

***

"The snowman is gone!" Mrs. Beaumont wailed, disconsolate, and Gus took the opportunity to look back out the living room window and take a discreet glance around the yard. There were at least three snowmen that he saw.

Shawn was clearly the braver man. "The snowman?"

"The snowman!" she said again, sniffling. "The waving one! It was my favorite!" Now Gus could vaguely remember Lassiter and Juliet examining a waving snowman the other day. It no longer seemed to be present.

"How terrible," Shawn said.

"But they were all there when I went to work!" she continued. "I looked! You saw me! And it couldn't have been the neighbors! They all leave for work before I do!" Indeed they did.

Could it be that their presence had scared off the thief? They weren't that noticeable. And besides, no one knew they were there except the police and Mrs. Beaumont. It was a puzzle.

The door opened and Brian scuffed his way through the living room and up the stairs, dirty sneakers and all, clutching another Slurpee -- wild cherry this time -- in his grubby hands.

"Wipe your feet, Brian," she said absently, and Brian returned to the door, scowling.

Shawn's eyes widened, and then narrowed, and Gus knew he was observing something. What?

"I'm having a vision!" Shawn announced, and Mrs. Beaumont and her son stopped to stare. Gus tried to pretend to be awed. But what was he seeing?

"I'm seeing numbers!" Shawn called out. He squinted his eyes shut, screwed up his face, and made fists in the air, sticking out fingers in front of him at random. The Beaumonts looked impressed.

Time to play the assistant. "Zero?"

"No," Shawn said, distractedly.

"_i_?" He couldn't resist.

"Real numbers." Okay, so maybe Shawn had been paying attention during math class. Somehow.

"Twenty?"

Shawn's face scrunched more. "Lower."

"Six?"

He wrinkled his nose. "Almost!"

"Seven?"

"Seven!" Shawn said, triumphantly, raising a fist in the air. "And there's another number, a bigger one--"

"Ten?" He was beginning to see where Shawn was going, though he wasn't sure why.

"Higher..."

"Eleven."

Shawn's eyes snapped open. "That's it! Seven. Eleven. But what does it mean?"

"There's a 7-11 around the corner," Mrs. Beaumont supplied, enthralled. It must be where Brian's omnipresent Slurpees were coming from. The boy began to edge toward the stairs.

"I think you'll find," Shawn said, "that last night's missing ornament is in the dumpster at 7-11. The others may be harder to recover."

She pressed her hands to her chest. "Oh! Are you sure?"

Shawn nodded firmly. "My psychic sense is never wrong."

"But do you know who did it?"

"I'm sensing shame with regards to your decorations. It's a powerful feeling. Very close by." His eyes settled on the figure inching up the stairs. "Your son."

Brian Beaumont stopped dead in his tracks and went white.

"Brian!"

Brian said nothing.

"Brian! Have you been taking my lawn ornaments?"

Brian still said nothing. His shoes, Gus noted, were very dirty. It could be from the lawn.

"Brian!"

"The other kids make fun of me," Brian mumbled, not facing them. "I thought if we didn't have as many, they'd stop. And they look stupid anyway!"

He stomped up the stairs. Gus heard the sound of a door slamming.

Mrs. Beaumont looked shocked. "Well. I'm sorry to have troubled the police on this matter, gentlemen. Brian will have a lot to discuss with us. The rest of the ornaments are probably in a landfill by now." She looked as if she were about to cry.

"There, there," Shawn said, patting her gingerly on the arm, and she cheered up a little.

"Oh, but you've been so kind," she said. "You must allow me to reward you."

Shawn beamed. "Oh, you don't have to."

"Nonsense." She went into the kitchen. It sounded like something heavy was being dragged along the floor. "Here you go."

They peered as one around the door. A large cardboard box sat in front of them, with a picture of a light-up deer pasted on one side. Uh-oh.

"It's a grazing doe," Mrs. Beaumont said proudly.

Shawn smiled, but it was more like a grimace.

***

"I have to say, Gus, that was a bit of a letdown."

Gus turned his head to look as he backed out of the parking place. The giant deer box in the back seat was blocking the view out of his rear-view mirror.

"Although," Shawn said, pensively. "It wasn't all bad. At least I know what I'm getting my dad."

"Oh no."

"Oh, yes." Shawn grinned.

"Shawn, you can't even seriously think about re-gifting that thing."

"I'd give it to you," Shawn said, as if the idea had actual merit, which was frightening to contemplate, "but then it wouldn't be a surprise."

"Thank God."

"Besides, you still won't tell me what you want for Christmas."

Christmas. Right. Christmas presents. And Shawn wanted a hippopotamus. Where was he supposed to find a -- oh. That was an idea. That was, as he kept thinking about it, an even better idea. Better and better. He smiled.

"I'm sure you'll get me something I like," Gus heard himself saying. "Buy something you think I'd like." It was as if his mouth didn't care that his brain knew those were dangerous words to say to Shawn Spencer.

Shawn's grin looked distinctly more evil.

***

The first thing Gus did when he got home was grab his laptop and go to the website. They had an online store. Perfect! And it was in stock. $14.95. $5.95 shipping.

He typed in his credit card number and grinned in satisfaction.

He was getting Shawn a hippopotamus for Christmas. Of a sort.

***

Christmas Day, ten days later, was nothing like the white Christmases promised in songs, but then, it never was. A little on the chilly side was as close as it got.

Gus clutched the small box in one hand and unlocked the office door with the other. Shawn, already there, looked up from behind the desk as he entered.

"Yo, Gus. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Shawn. Been to your dad's already?"

Shawn stretched back in his chair happily. "Yep. Gave him a grazing doe."

"How'd he take it?"

"Better than last year."

Their eyes met. "What about last year? I don't--" Gus remembered. "Oh. Never mind."

"Yeah." Shawn grinned. "So, present time?"

Gus nodded and pulled up a chair to Shawn's desk as Shawn dropped a large rectangular box in front of him, neatly wrapped with a glittering bow. Gus couldn't decide whether the feeling in his stomach was excitement or horror, and he peered speculatively at the paper.

"Not alive, is it?"

Shawn shook his head. "Entirely inanimate."

Gus put his teeny-tiny box on top of Shawn's. "And this is for you."

Shawn grinned at it. "You first?"

"Nah, you first."

"Okay."

Shawn tore into the wrapping surrounding the small box, to reveal that it was a clear plastic box containing--

"A hippopotamus!" Shawn crowed, jubilantly, at the figurine. "He's beautiful! He's -- Gus, why is he blue?"

Didn't Shawn remember? "That's William."

"William who?"

"William," Gus explained. "The blue faience hippopotamus from Egypt, at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. In New York. You remember. Where we all went on that school trip for spring break in high school. You were there. We saved up for months for airfare, remember?"

Shawn frowned at the hippo. "I remember New York."

"And we went to the Met! That was the best part." It had certainly been his favorite part of the trip, anyway. He'd spent hours wandering through the rooms, and Shawn had -- and Shawn had -- "You weren't there," he concluded finally.

Shawn's smile was huge, infectious, and the corners of his eyes crinkled in remembered joy. "I snuck out and went to MTV Studios."

"Shawn!"

Shawn shrugged, doing his best blameless-innocent face. "It was excellent."

"Anyway," Gus said, as Shawn struggled with the packaging. "His name's William, which you would know if you'd been. He's also a magnet, so you can split him in half down the middle and have two hippo-shaped fridge magnets."

Shawn trotted the hippopotamus around the desk. "What noise does a hippo make?"

"I thought you were the expert."

The hippo made a strange burbling trumpety noise and zipped all around the top of the large box still on the desk. Shawn's face was one of absolute glee.

"Thank you."

Gus smiled. "Merry Christmas."

Shawn -- or rather, Shawn and the hippo -- nudged the package toward him. "Go on, open yours."

Gus set the box on his lap and ripped away the wrapping. He could almost see the box. Could it be...?

"Lazer Tag!"

Shawn laughed. "Yep."

"You -- I never said I wanted Lazer Tag."

"I pay attention," Shawn said. "When you were ten, you asked for a book on chemistry, but I saw how you looked at Chad McFadden's Lazer Tag set."

Gus grinned at Shawn, his best friend in the whole world. "It's almost as if you're psychic."

"You might say that," said Shawn, grinning back. "I psychically predict that I am going to own at Lazer Tag."

Gus scoffed and opened the box. "As if."

Shawn jumped to his feet. "Let's play."

It being Christmas, the streets outside their office were almost empty, which made it the perfect day for a game or two. And though Shawn did, in fact, win most of the rounds, Gus felt really that everyone was a winner.


End file.
